


Just a crush

by JamieDragon



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Asphyxiation, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieDragon/pseuds/JamieDragon
Summary: Jaskier is left alone and bored. Bad luck, swearing, and injuries happen.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 188





	Just a crush

"You. Mother. Fucking. Cocksuckeeeer!"

Drawing out the last syllable, Jaskier placed his shoulder against the hatch and pushed with every little bit of strength he could find. The wood creaked slightly, but refused to budge.

"Fuck!"

He punched the door, only earning himself bruised knuckles, and sat down on the stairs with a sigh. 

He had only wanted to explore a bit. Geralt had deemed the hunt too dangerous for the bard to tag along, so Jaskier had been left behind. He had been a little annoyed at that, though he understood Geralt's reasoning. But apparently his inspiration had decided to go with Geralt, because Jaskier couldn't for his life compose anything. At least nothing that didn't sound about as terrible as things written by Valdo Marx.

Because of this, it hadn't taken long for him to become utterly bored and restless. Luckily for him, they had found a big old house, almost a castle, which seemed to have been abandoned for ages. And with nothing better to do, Jaskier had set out to explore the dusty halls and dark corridors. It was all very dramatic and thrilling, even though he knew there was nothing to be afraid of in there. Geralt had swept the building twice when they first arrived, making sure no monsters had decided to make their home anywhere. The worst thing Jaskier risked encountering was spiders and dust bunnies.

That and, apparently, bad luck. 

He wasn't sure what had actually happened. One moment he was taking his first steps into a basement under the kitchen, and in the next, there was a deafening boom as blackness engulfed him. Perhaps he had accidentally moved the hatch as he went down the stairs. Perhaps there had been a draft. Or perhaps destiny and rotten luck had just wanted to fuck with him. Whatever the case, the heavy door at the top of the stairs had fallen shut. Fallen shut and locked. And however much Jaskier pushed and punched and cursed and screamed at it, it refused to move. He was stuck in the cold musty basement. And Geralt was not returning until the evening, or the next day, if he was particularly unlucky.

He still wasn't in any danger. Sure, he would be hungry by the time Geralt got back, but hardly starving (even though he would try to convince Geralt that he was), and the witcher had checked the basements too, so nothing dangerous was hiding in the darkness. But that didn't mean that sitting around in the basement was something he was happy about doing. 

"Because this is so much _less_ boring," he muttered to himself. "What is there to even do down here, except for literally collecting dust."

He had no light either. With the big windows in the house, plenty of daylight came in, and the open hatch had allowed enough for Jaskier to feel that he could have at least a quick look around. The _closed_ hatch was less accommodating.

"And yet…"

It could hardly be called a light, it was more like a less black blackness. But with his eyes having started growing used to the darkness, it was enough for Jaskier to be able to make out shapes. The angle of a corner. The lump of a long forgotten burlap bag. Curious and with nothing better to do, he rose from the stair he had been sitting on, and slowly made his way down to the basement floor.

It was not much to go on, that faint light, but luckily the basement was almost completely empty, with few things to trip over. And as he manoeuvred carefully around the stone walls, it grew stronger, until he saw what it was.

A window.

Outside he could make out a thick bush which, together with the dusty glass, stopped much of the sunlight from reaching the room. The window itself was small, but most likely big enough for Jaskier to fit through. It was also high up on the wall, too high for him to reach it, but against the perpendicular wall stood a very big empty bookcase. And suddenly, Jaskier knew what to do. The perfect plan. That would release him from the boring basement, as well as allowing him to escape both Geralt's teasing (best case) and annoyance (worst case) regarding what Jaskier had been doing while the witcher was away. He simply had to climb the bookcase, crawl out the window, and go around the house to the front door. Easy! 

Happy with his plan, he stepped closer to the bookcase. It was tall and wide, made of some dark wood that matched the basement's overall gloominess, and the fact that it was empty just made the climbing easier. 

The first steps were easy. Emboldened by his own genius, Jaskier quickly got off the floor. But a sudden creak and wobble made him slow down. Perhaps not so sturdy after all. But it didn't matter. The window was close. He just had to get a little bit higher.

His continued climbing was more careful, but the noises from the bookcase didn't grow worse, which he saw as a good sign. Looking over his left shoulder, he could see the window and knew for sure now that he would be able to fit through. Taking a moment to adjust his grip on the bookcase, he twisted as much as he could towards the window, reaching for it.

A new wobble made him gasp and cling to the bookcase in sudden fear. But nothing else happened. And the window, his freedom, was so close. He just had to reach the window latch… After a couple of calming breaths he tried again, reaching towards the latch on the side farthest from him. The hand holding the bookcase was sweaty, but he was so close, _so close._

With a triumphant "Ha!" his fingers got hold of the latch. And in the next moment, the sound passing over his lips was all but triumphant, as the bookcase toppled over and he fell backwards, desperately trying to turn enough to catch himself. 

There was the sound of something breaking, snapping, and a sharp pain in his head, and everything went black. 

Jaskier wasn't sure how long it was before he woke again. His head hurt, his arm hurt, his chest hurt. But worse than that, he couldn't breathe, at least not properly. As he forced his eyes open, it was evident why. The bookcase that had fallen was laying over him, pinning him to the floor. And it was heavy. So fucking heavy. It pushed down against him, crushing him between it and the unyielding stone floor.

It took all Jaskier had not to start panicking. He would very much have liked to panic, panic seemed like the rational reaction in this situation, but he realized that he might end up killing himself if he didn't keep his breathing as even as possible. What little air the bookcase allowed him was already not enough, and it would only be worse if he started hyperventilating.

Instead he started taking stock of all his body parts. His head was luckily not under the bookcase, giving him at least a small measure of relief. The rest of him had not been as fortunate. He could move his hands and one leg, but that didn't mean that he wanted to. Without being able to see, it was still clear that his right arm was broken, and he would swear that a couple of his ribs were at least cracked. Every movement, every breath, hurt. And the breaths themselves was never enough. Even without the pain to his ribs, his chest couldn't expand enough for him to get as much air as he needed. He had to get the bookcase off, or he risked dying.

Slowly he moved his leg and forced his left arm into a slight better position. Steadying himself as best as he could, he then pushed. Something creaked, the bookcase or his ribs, but the movement was minimal and when he had to let go the bookcase seemed to settle even heavier over him, making him gasp in pain. If his ribs hadn't been broken before, they most definitely were now.

He couldn't try again. He didn't dare to. And he was quite sure he didn't have the strength, or breath, for another try. All he could do was wait. Wait and hope that Geralt arrived before death did.

Time moved slower than it ever had, and Jaskier tried to keep his thoughts occupied with other things. But it was hard, so hard. Hard as the bookcase. He mused to himself that it most likely wasn't made of wood at all. Instead it must be made of steel or stone or witcher ass or something else heavy and hard and immovable.

Oh, he would never call Geralt heavy if he ever got out of this. Would never again complain about having the witcher's weight over him. Not that he actually disliked it, far from it. There was a strange mixture of danger and safety in that. Danger at the thought of how easily Geralt could crush him, or hold him down and force him, if he wanted to. And safety from the knowledge that the witcher would never do that, that Jaskier was more safe and protected with the stronger man draped over him than he would be anywhere else.

He smiled slightly at the darkness before frowning. He wasn't sure if it actually was darker, if a cloud had passed over the sun, or time moved quicker towards evening than he had thought. He hoped that was the case. Otherwise, the darkness was just before his own eyes, a symptom of too little air. He closed his eyes and forced his shallow breaths to remain as even as possible. Geralt would return soon. He had to.

He didn't dare to sleep, and still he was sure unconsciousness dragged him down now and then. It was almost welcoming, a respite from the pain and the stone floor which had by now spread its coldness into his bones. It was welcoming, and oh so terrifying. It was difficult enough to keep breathing when awake, and he was so afraid that he would slip into the dark and never wake up again. So he did his best to stay awake. But sometimes he didn't get a choice. 

He hated the sounds of his own breathing. It was rough and ragged, sounded painful even to his own ears. But each new sound ment that he was still alive, so he endured, tried not to wonder if this was giving him permanent damage. Would his breathing always sound like this from now on? Would he be able to sing? Talk? Would he be able to keep up with Geralt enough to continue travelling with him? He wasn't sure what prospect felt most terrifying. It was black all around him now, but he could still hear the horrible sounds, so he was still alive. Geralt would return soon. Geralt would help him.

Geralt smiled as the abandoned mansion came into view. The hunt had been a success, quicker than anticipated, with no bad wounds and no townspeople who changed their mind regarding payment. He looked forward to curling up with Jaskier by the fireplace in the parlour where they had made camp. He would try to tell Jaskier everything about the hunt, and the bard would reward him with kisses for every detail he managed to describe. He had bought them each a pastry while in the village, an unnecessary luxury, but something he knew would make Jaskier happy.

Taking care of Roach and giving her her own treat (not a pastry) he left her in the stable and entered the house. He was slightly surprised that Jaskier hadn't come out to meet him as he arrived, but perhaps the man was still a bit grumpy at having been left behind. However, as he stopped in the big entry hall, his surprise turned to worry. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

"Jaskier?"

He got no answer. Setting down his pack, Geralt pulled out one of his swords and started searching. He knew he had checked the big house, and even put a smaller protection spell around it. Nothing should have been able to get in to hurt the bard. If Jaskier hadn't for some reason left. But a quick look in the parlour showed him that all their things were still there, including Jaskier's lute.

Just to be sure, Geralt checked the ground outside the front door for any trace of intruders, but found none. So in the house then. Could Jaskier have found some interesting book in the library, and was too distracted to have heard Geralt arrive? Possible. But the library, and every room Geralt passed on the way there, was unsettlingly bardless.

Closing his eyes, Geralt focused his hearing on the house, and after a moment he heard… something. A strange ragged sound, accompanied by a strained heartbeat.

The worry turned into fear as he ran through the house towards the sounds. They were faint, so faint, but led him to the kitchen where he almost tore the basement door off its hinges. He could smell blood and pain and fear, and he barrelled down the stairs without hesitation. 

"Jaskier!"

He found the bard in one of the inner storage rooms. Jaskier was laying on the floor, with a heavy bookcase over him. Glancing around the room, Geralt could perhaps guess what had happened, but the events weren't important right now. Jaskier was pale and shivering, a patch of his hair was caked in dried blood, and his lips had a slightly blue tinge to them. And still, mixed with the pain in those beautiful eyes, eyes that threatened to fall shut any moment, Geralt saw so much relief and love, that look Jaskier had when he knew Geralt would make everything better. Geralt never really felt worthy of that look, though he did his best to be.

"Jaskier." His voice was softer as he dropped down on one knee, and allowed them both a short moment of Geralt's fingers over Jaskier's cheek as he tried to comfort the younger man.

Realizing that Jaskier most likely wouldn't be able to move out from under the bookcase even if it was lifted, Geralt pushed it upright and back against the wall where it had presumably stood. As the heavy object disappeared, Jaskier took big gulps of air, resulting in a coughing fit that only seemed to hurt him more. Geralt returned quickly to his side, taking Jaskier's hand as the bard reached for him.

"Take it easy. Try to breathe slowly. I know it hurts, but the worst is over now."

It took a little while of Geralt's gentle coaching, before Jaskier's breathing was almost normal again, and then it still sounded a bit painful and hoarse. When the bard tried to speak, only a croaked whisper came out, and Geralt hushed him.

"Don't try to talk yet, just breathe."

He got a slight nod as an answer before Jaskier closed his eyes, exhausted.

Geralt lifted him as carefully as he could, still eliciting a whimper from the bard, and carried him upstairs to the parlor. Jaskier was cold after however long he had been laying on the stone floor, so Geralt quickly made a fire, placing Jaskier close to it to warm him up.

"I can't leave you alone anywhere," he scolded gently as he examined Jaskier, smiling as the younger man stuck his tongue out at him without opening his eyes.

Jaskier's arm was broken, as well as a couple of his ribs, which would make sure breathing continued to hurt for a while. Geralt hated the thought of Jaskier being in any kind of pain, but at least the breaks had been clean, no organs seemed to have been injured, and with some rest and care the bard would be as good as new.

As carefully as he could, Geralt splintered the arm, and wrapped Jaskier's ribs and head. Colour had by then returned to the younger man's cheeks, and his breathing sounded better, even though Geralt knew the movements still were painful.

Returning to Jaskier's side after making him some tea for the pain, he carefully helped him drink.

"Knw you'd cme," Jaskier whispered, finding Geralt's hand and squeezing it slightly. 

"I'll always come find you," Geralt replied. 

Jaskier, most likely exhausted after his day, and relaxed by the tea and the sounds of the fire slowly started drifting off. Geralt stayed by his side, not daring to hug him, but more than happy to hold his hand and run his fingers through the soft brown hair. Remembering something, he gave Jaskier's hand a little squeeze. "I brought back pastries for you."

Jaskier, already half asleep, smiled. "Knew I kpt you round fo'somethin."

**Author's Note:**

> Who doesn't love some injured Jaskier? Am I right? Am I... guys? I'm right, aren't I? >_>  
> I knew what I wanted to happen, but had less of a plan when it came to the "rescue". I hope it wasn't to quick and unsatisfying. Got you a little bit of fluff there at the end. ♡  
> Didn't have any ideas for a good title, and when in doubt go with a pun I guess?  
> Also, it's 5.13 in the morning and I'm too tired to read through it and check for mistakes. Hopefully you only got a couple of bad spellings (I can't spell in my native language either sooo...) and not like... a shity story because I should write during the day instead of staying awake all night.  
> Anyway. Hope you liked. Good night! ♡


End file.
